Chapter 46
He was surrounded by gray—from the walls to the floors, even the toilet in the corner—the drabness was sucking the breath from him. Americans said that London was colorless. But nothing could surpass this, even the air was gray.
Alaister held his head low, hanging between his knees. He'd hoped to stop the churning in his stomach. There couldn't be anything left; he'd vomited all night.
At least he was alone.
“Hey, buddy.”
The ache in his neck made him raise his head slowly. It took a moment for his eyes to focus on the gray shadow on the other side of the bars.
“You want some of this?” The guard rattled the keys inside the holding cell's lock, then slid the tray along the floor. It stopped right under Alaister's nose.
He sat still until the aroma lifted to his nostrils, forcing him to run seven steps to the toilet. The guard's laughter echoed through the halls, but Alaister kept his head lowered until the guard's footsteps faded.
He shuffled to the low-lying cot and lay on his back, with his feet hanging over the edge. He'd lain this way many times before, in the sanctuary he'd created. He should have stayed there. His secrets had been safe in that apartment.
The police were never even close. He had marveled at their ineptness, but now he was wondering how they'd found him.
It was her pictures in that room that had been his downfall. He'd kept evidence that should have been destroyed with the ring.
Carelessness was costly. Still there had to be a way to escape, just like he'd done in London, and in New York. But with what had happened yesterday, he didn't think he'd ever get out of this place. It was the sudden knock on the door that startled him. No one ever came to visit, and even a surprise guest had to be announced by the doorman.
So when he placed his hand on the doorknob, he figured a neighbor was on the other side. It had taken strength from deep within to remain composed when he opened the door. Even without uniforms, before they flashed badges, he knew who they were.
One was a tall Black man, with a shaved head, who looked to Alaister like he would have been comfortable on a basketball court. The other one—the white one—was shorter … and stockier—the one who did all the talking.
“Mr. Phillips, I'm Detective Bush. May we come in?”
“I don't know anything.” Alaister's eyes had darted between the two.
The stocky one's thick eyebrows raised. “You don't know anything about what?”
The detectives were inside, but Alaister still stood at his opened door. “I … don't know … anything about Anya Mitchell,” he stammered.
The detective's eyebrows raised higher. “Who said this was about Anya Mitchell?”
Alaister tried to steady his breathing, remembering that he was innocent. “Why else would you be here, Detective?” He'd been proud of his quick response, but pride turned to cold fear, when he noticed the other detective slowly walking around the living room, edging closer to the bedroom door.
“Excuse me.” He had tried to get the detective's attention.
The Black cop finally turned around. “Do you mind if we look in there?”
Alaister closed his eyes. What were the rules in this country? Surely officers couldn't just walk into his home.
At the same time, the other detective held up a folder. “Is there something you want to tell us?”
Alaister had tried to count slowly in his head to calm the trembling that had taken over his body.
There was little that he remembered after that, until he'd been brought here. They kept him in a small room for much of the night, questioning him. Why did you do it? Have there been any others? What were your plans? Why Anya? There was no way to explain that he'd done nothing wrong. He tried to explain Shakespeare's thoughts on the matter—“I am a man, more sinn'd against than sinning.” But, they could not see his innocence.
When they'd finally brought him to the cell in the early hours of the morning, fear kept his eyes opened and dread emptied his stomach. Now, he lay weak with fright.
“Mr. Phillips?”
He didn't open his eyes but frowned. When he heard his name again, his eyes shot open.
It had been thirteen years, but there was instant recognition between the two.
Alaister's eyes were wide as Sean Thomas held his finger to his lips. He didn't have to do that—the shock that filled Alaister was enough to choke all words inside him.
The guard opened the cell. Sean took only one step inside and waited for the guard to disappear down the hall.
“What are you doing here?” The question squeaked from Alaister's throat.
“I was about to ask you the same thing.” Sean sat on the cot, then opened the folder in front of him. He shook his head as he read over the papers. “Your name was familiar, but I thought you were one of my old clients.”
“Clients?”
Sean looked at Alaister. “I'm the lead attorney in the Public Defender's office.”
“Here in the States?”
He nodded. “I've lived in Los Angeles for almost ten years.”
Alaister stared at Sean in his tailored suit and silk tie. In that moment, a lifetime of memories flashed through his mind. How could this be? He was the brighter one.
Sean cleared his throat. “This is a bit unusual. I should excuse myself. You really need another lawyer.”
Alaister didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Then one of his favorite lines from Shakespeare came to his mind—“They laugh that win.” And he knew he would never laugh again.
Chapter 47
Anya felt like David was an old friend as they drove south on the 405 Freeway into Huntington Beach. When they exited on Beach Boulevard and turned into the Seaside Condominiums, Anya stiffened.
“This is where you live.” She hoped she didn't sound as dreadful as she felt.
He nodded. “I want to change my clothes,” he said, peering down at his suit. “That's okay?”
She barely nodded.
David maneuvered the Jeep to one of the two-story buildings. Without words, he opened her door and guided her to his apartment. She followed him inside, but then stood in the foyer, unsure of her next steps.
David continued through the enclosed entrance, under the arch that led to the living room. He turned back, looked at Anya, then held his hand to her. “Come in. It won't take me long to get out of this.”
Anya glanced down at the long T-shirt dress she was wearing.
His eyes roamed her body. “You look fine. I just want to get comfortable.”
She folded her arms in front of her and forced her eyes to turn away from him.
David chuckled, picked up a pillow from the floor, and tossed it casually on the couch. As he went into the bedroom, Anya settled on the edge of the couch, feeling the coolness of the leather against her bare legs. She clutched her purse, and with her legs so firmly sealed together, she felt like a young girl who had changed her mind about this first date.
But this is not a date, she said to herself.
“Would you like something to drink?” David yelled from a room behind her. She turned around and peered through the slightly opened door, then turned back quickly when she realized a mirror showed his reflection.
“No. I'll get something when we leave” She cringed as the words came from her mouth. She was a grown woman, why was she acting this way? Because she was a grown woman.
Taking a deep breath, she began to casually stroll the room. While everything in her townhouse seemed to be white, David appeared to have an affinity for black.
In that instant, music charged through the room, startling her for a moment, until she realized David had turned on the stereo from a remote.
She smiled, and then her smile widened when he stepped from his bedroom. She tried not to stare, but he was dressed in that black again—a muscle shirt that didn't leave her wondering and black jeans.
She took a deep breath. “Are you ready?”
H
e chuckled as if she'd told a joke. Then pointed to a stack of mail scattered on his dining room table. “I need a moment, do you mind?”
“No, I'm all yours today. I mean—”
He grinned at her, his dimple even deeper now. “I know what you mean.”
She turned, needing something to focus on. She continued moving through the room, all the time ignoring the feel of David's eyes. In front of the fireplace she stopped, and picked up the single item that sat on the mantel. It was a yellowed photo in the center of a gold frame. From the way the two people were dressed, she knew it had been taken in the sixties. There was an attractive woman, dressed in a large-flowered minidress, holding the hand of a young boy. The boy's body had changed, but there was no mistaking that dimpled smile.
“You look so cute.” She laughed. “You haven't changed a bit.” She glanced at him. “Well, maybe a little.”
“You don't think I'm cute anymore?” He walked to her.
“I wouldn't say that,” she said, and wondered why she was flirting. She cleared her throat. “Is this your mother?”
He nodded, and took the photo from her. “She was so beautiful,” he said sadly. “I don't remember this picture. I just kept it because it reminds me of a time when my mother was happy.”
“Do you have any other pictures?” Anya kept her voice soft.
“No,” he said abruptly, then handed the picture back to her. He returned to the dining room and shifted through the envelopes he'd been looking at. A few seconds later, he tossed them onto the table.
Anya took a deep breath, and went to him. “Every time we talk about your family, you go into a cave.”
He said nothing.
She moved closer to him. “If you want to talk, I'm here for you, David. Believe me, after all you've done for me …”
He finally smiled.
“You're not the only one who can be a good friend,” she continued.
He chuckled, and the cloud lifted. “Well, if I'm a good friend, then I need to do what I promised and cheer you up. Let's get something to eat. There's a place on the beach called Adam and Eve's. I think you'll like the menu.”
Anya wrapped the sweatshirt she'd been carrying around her waist, and they walked outside. It wasn't until they were on the street that Anya realized how close they were to the beach.
“I would love to live near the ocean. Let's walk for a while.”
“That's one of my favorite things to do.”
On the beach, they took off their shoes, letting their feet sink into the sand. The breeze made the air cool, and she covered up with her sweatshirt.
They strolled along the ocean's shore, shoulder to shoulder in comfortable silence. When the light mist tickled her, she sighed. Glancing up, she saw David smiling at her.
She smiled back and returned her eyes to the ocean. “David, I am so grateful for everything you've done. It's amazing how hard you worked on my case, but why did it interest you so?”
He glanced at her sideways. “You really don't know?”
She looked at him blankly.
He stopped walking and put his hand on her arm. He opened his mouth, then closed it and sighed. Finally he said, “I did it because you're a good friend and I care about you.”
They continued walking for a few minutes, then Anya said, “Is that the only reason?” She kept her eyes straight ahead, not looking at him.
David pointed to some rocks. “Let's sit over there.”
He laid his jacket down and they both leaned back against the hard surface. He picked up a small stone and tossed it into the ocean. “I helped the police because I wanted to get whoever had done this to you, and …” He picked up another rock and tossed it, this time throwing it farther than the last. “I didn't want them to suspect me.”
Anya tucked her hands deep inside her sweatshirt. “You found me. Why would they suspect you?”
“There are things that you don't know. Things I haven't told anyone.”
She didn't understand why her heart was beginning to pound. Suddenly she changed her mind. “David, if you don't want to talk about this—”
“My mother was raped.” He breathed the words through clenched teeth.
Anya held her breath.
“She was raped over and over and many times all I could do was watch.”
Anya's eyes widened in horror, while David's eyes were held to the ocean's waves.
“It was my father.” He paused. “I remember wonderful times with my father. But when I was about ten, he lost his job and everything changed. He could never find steady work after that. And the more time that passed between jobs, the more he drank. That was when the beatings began …”
“Your father beat you?”
“Not me, my mother.”
“Oh, God, David.”
He shook his head. “My father wasn't a bad man. It was what life did to him. That's why when I saw you …” His eyes were pasted on the ocean as if the past was hidden in the waves.
She took his hand.
“There's more, Anya, but I can't … not right now.” He closed his eyes, trying to block the memories, and at the same time trying to hold back his words. No one could ever know the complete truth.
She nodded, and rubbed her fingers along his hand, wanting to reassure him. His fingers gripped her tighter and, finally, he looked at her. She saw his pain deep in his eyes and tears filled her own.
“I'm here if you want to talk,” she said softly. “You can trust me.”
“I know.”
Suddenly he leaned over, and brushed his lips lightly across hers. Anya closed her eyes, not daring to breathe, feeling the gentleness of him and waiting for more. But as suddenly as he moved to her, he pulled away. Her eyes snapped open, and she saw that he was smiling. “Thank you for being my friend.” His voice was a raspy whisper.
“Thank you for being mine.”
He kissed her cheek, then took her hands, and pulled her from the rocks.
“David, we have to talk.”
He turned off the ignition and smiled. “Anya, it's almost seven. We sat in that restaurant until they kicked us out. We talked for the last hour as we sat in traffic. We've talked enough for today,” he joked.
She took a deep breath. “We have to talk about …” Her eyes dropped, and she looked at her engagement ring.
“Are you trying to tell me that we have to talk about that little—”
“Kiss.”
David drew his body back as if he were offended. “Anya, believe me. When I kiss you, you'll know it. That was not a kiss.”
She slapped his arm playfully. “Whatever it was,” she began, straightening her face into seriousness, “you know there are a lot of reasons why we can't go there.”
“I know, you're engaged.”
“Yes and—”
“You're my boss.”
“David, imagine the complications this would cause.”
“And, of course, you're not that kind of girl.”
She looked into his eyes. “I'm not. I love Braxton.”
“If you love him so much, what were you doing kissing me?”
She closed her eyes and sighed.
“I'm sorry,” David said. “I put you in a bad position, and I didn't mean to. But you know what the little meeting of our lips was all about, don't you?”
Her expression questioned him.
“We had to get it out of the way. There was all of this … tension between us. It's been building, but now that our lips have met …” He took her hands. “Now we can really be friends.”
She smiled. “You're a nice man, Mr. Montgomery.”
“Make sure I get an invitation to the wedding.”
“You'll be the first.”
“So in the office tomorrow, I'll pretend that our lips never met.”
She laughed. “Thank you for such a wonderful day.”
They walked slowly to her front door. When she turned around to tell him good night, he put his finger to her lips. �
��I just want you to know one thing, Ms. Mitchell. If I had kissed you, you would have never made it home tonight.” Then he walked away, leaving her standing with her mouth wide open.
Anya could hear the TV as she passed, but she didn't knock like she usually did. Instead she tiptoed into her bedroom and focused on the blinking light on her answering machine. She was tempted to ignore her messages and just slip into bed. But she knew she had to face Braxton. She owed this news to him.
She dialed his number and he answered before the phone fully rang once.
“I've been waiting for you to call,” he said without saying hello and Anya remembered that he'd just purchased a caller ID box. “Where've you been?”
“I needed some time alone, I'm sorry.”
“That's okay,” he said quickly. “I just wanted to know that you were okay. I called your office and they didn't know where you were.”
“I hope you weren't worried.”
“I will always worry, I love you.”
Her afternoon flickered through her mind, and she closed her eyes. Forgive me, Lord, she thought.
“Braxton, I have some news. Do you want to come over?”
“I can … I was on my way to Men's Prayer.”
“Oh,” she breathed relieved. “Go on … we can talk later.”
“No, this sounds important. What is it?”
She took a deep breath. “Braxton, the police called this morning. They found out who did it—at least a suspect.”
“Oh, my God, that's great. Now we can put this all behind us.”
“Braxton, it was … someone I know.” She stopped. This was as hard as when she found out she was pregnant. What would Braxton do?
“Who?”
She pushed the name through her lips. “Alaister Phillips, he works for me.”
There was a pause, then Braxton exploded. “A man in your office attacked you? How could that happen?” he screamed.
“Braxton, I'm sorry,” she cried.
“Oh, no, baby. No, I'm sorry. This has to be hard on you. I'm coming over—”
“No, I'm really tired and I want to go to sleep. We can talk about this tomorrow.”
“I need to be there with you.”
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